


no other soul could love you like my rotten bones do

by janie_tangerine



Series: some flowers bloom dead [8]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Canon, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, M/M, Multi, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, What-If, everything you might expect if you read the Theon chapters in adwd, major ASOS/AFFC/ADWD spoilers, okay people now it's starting to get better, trust me on this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 20:26:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>where Robb settles matters with the Freys and Theon acts on impulse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay uhm so I had this chapter saved to post after the RW aired. So here we go. I swear that even if by the end of the first part you might be tempted to think that I'm trolling you, I swear I am not. I solemnly do. Also I said things were going to start to look up, they are now. Here you go. ;)
> 
> Clearly nothing belongs to me (.... I WISH RIGHT NOW) and the title is from Gaslight Anthem (... very original, I know).

A few miles from the Twins (the castle is visible in the distance by now), Robb tells a small number of soldiers to stay behind with Davos Seaworth (and Theon, obviously). He leaves orders to be ready to leave at any moment because they’ll need men to secure the place if it goes as planned, but if it doesn’t happen, someone has to go back to Riverrun and report. He sincerely hopes that it won’t come to that. Before leaving for good, he goes to Ser Davos - he might as well leave him in charge, considering that everyone else of importance in his army is coming with him.

“It should be quick,” Robb says. “If it’s not, then it means we’re not coming back. Probably. Still, from here you should be able to see how things fare. In case they fare bad, leave at once and go back to Riverrun.”

“Very well. Are you planning on sneaking up on them?”

“Yes. We’re going to wait until we’re sure that they’re asleep - hopefully there won’t be too much bloodshed. And if we get rid of the people outside, the inside should be taken care of smoothly.”

He takes a deep breath and then figures that he should just say it and have it out of his way.

“Another thing though.”

“Is it about the person I’m thinking of?”

The man, Robb decides, is more perceptive than most people would think just by looking at him.

“Yes. I suppose that it would be too much to ask you to… well, make sure that nothing horrible happens to them if this goes wrong, wouldn’t it?”

“No,” Ser Davos answers calmly, and Robb almost makes a double take.

 _That_ , he hadn’t expected. He had kind of asked without expecting a positive answer.

“It - it wouldn’t?”

“No. Let me guess, if you don’t come back, you don’t want them to be… your family’s hostages either. Am I wrong?”

“Gods, no. Also because… I don’t have to tell you that they really are not, right? Well. They are in appearance.”

“What I thought. Well, Your Grace, I think I can do it. Don’t worry over that.”

Robb has no clue of what he has in mind, but then again Ser Davos isn’t the kind of person who’d make this kind of promise just to fail it, so he supposes he’s got it covered. “All right then. Tell him I hope we see each other again soon. If it please you.”

“It please me,” Ser Davos replies, sounding almost amused.

Well then, it’s high time he deals with this.

They march for another mile or so through the woods - when they stop, there’s barely a fire lit in front of the castle and the entire Lannister army seems dead to the world, but Robb knows better than to hurry. He’s waited this long, he’s going to do this right.

When Lady Mormont, Lord Glover and the rest of his bannermen are all next to him minutes later, he takes a deep breath and looks straight at the castle.

“All right. We need to split now or we’re going to cause too much noise. Thankfully the army is all on this side of the river from what I see. Now. Lord Glover, take your men and be ready to attack on the right side. Lady Mormont, do the same but on the left one. I’ll be going for the middle. No horses, leave them all here. They’d give us out. I’m going to wait until I’ve seen that you’ve taken your positions, and then we all go for it at the same time. The first who gets there, strikes. Let’s try to keep it as silent as possible - we don’t want anyone inside the castle realizing what’s going on just as soon as we start. And let’s try not to kill everyone - we’ll probably need some of those men alive later if only for information.”

“And after we’ve secured the outside?”

Robb considers who he should leave out to man the situation and then decides that it’s not going to be Lady Mormont - her daughter died at the wedding and she would probably rather be with him.

“My lady, you and your men are coming inside with me. Lord Glover, You’ll make sure that the situation on the outside is clear. One thing though - when we’re inside, try to get prisoners rather than outright killing them. I know that it’s hard to ask and the gods know I wish I could not do it, but they’re all valuable and I still want to question them about the wedding.”

“Anyone we should spare at all costs, other than the hostages?” Lord Glover asks.

Robb takes a deep breath.

“Roslin Frey – I need to know my uncle’s intentions about her. And her father. I want to deal with him myself. Anything else? If not, we’ll wait until the last fire dies down. Then we’re going to start moving into our respective positions, and when you’re sure that everyone is in their place, go.”

At least the moon is just a sliver of white tonight - it’s enough that they can see what they’re doing, but not enough for that army to actually notice them moving.

No one has objections.

\--

He hadn’t missed this.

It feels all wrong, especially with Grey Wind not being at his side. Or Theon. Or… most of the people who used to fight with him. But that’s not the point.

 _Focus on the matter at hand_ , he thinks. He needs to get to the bloody Twins, neutralize the Lannister army and walk inside. That’s it. That’s the easy part.

Then - well, he just hopes that he can keep himself from cutting Walder Frey’s throat with his damned Lannister-forged sword the moment he sees his face, but he’s not going to be laughing for sure. As he marches and tries to walk by as silently as he can, he thinks about the trial he should hold if everything goes the way he had thought. Roose Bolton, Walder Frey and Sybelle Westerling - gods, it’s all so bloody absurd that he can’t even wrap his head around it.

Meanwhile, the castle is closer. He glances at his right - no one there yet. At his left, Maege Mormont is quickly approaching - she’ll probably get there first.

Well, she can have the first dance.

\--

It almost makes Robb laugh bitterly when it goes exactly the way he had imagined it would. Everyone was sound asleep when they sneaked on them, and people start screaming only when Lord Glover joins the fight - but by then, Robb and Lady Mormont’s men have proceeded to throw down most tents and knock out most men - they have killed a lot of them, but not as many as they could, and Robb’s red and black sword is dripping with blood that looks as black as the steel in it in the faint moonlight.

He’ll have this reforged at some point and he’ll give it a better name, he thinks before it cuts through the neck of a Lannister soldier who had been trying to sneak up on him.

Then he looks up at the pikes in front of the castle and sees a wolf’s skull impaled on one of them. The one in the center.

So maybe the next five men that try to attack him all end up slaughtered mercilessly, but Robb doesn’t feel bad about it for the moment (and he won’t for a while).

\--

It doesn’t even last that long, or it doesn’t seem like it - he can hear noise coming from the castle, though, when it’s over on the outside.

“My lady,” he tells Maege Mormont - her armor is covered in blood, but not hers. “I think it’s high time we go inside.”

“I had been waiting to hear that,” she smiles, and they throw down the door before the soldiers inside manage to secure it.

\--

There’s little resistance - no one had expected them, as Robb had thought.

He kills a couple of Lord Walder’s nephews that had tried to fight back - not that there won’t be a lot more to take for hostages, he thinks grimly.

Then he wonders when he became like _this_ , and a part of him tells him _when you watched your mother die_ , and then he stops thinking about it and marches forward. There’s a complete cacophony around, between blades meeting blades and screams for mercy ( _they can wish for it_ , that part of him whispers) Robb’s head is pounding and he just wants this to be done. But everyone they meet along the way is eventually killed or captured or knocked out, and at some point he hears the Greatjon screaming in triumph from somewhere behind him and he grins. Someone freed the hostages, or so it seems.

Lady Mormont joins him not long later. “There’s only the upper floor left.”

_The one with the main hall._

“We left some men with your uncle and his wife. Lord Walder is not accounted for. Most of his relatives are, though.”

“Well, to the main hall it is then.”

\--

It’s really almost too easy. By the time they get there, the soldiers with them are five the number of the people in the hall, the last room left, and Robb doesn’t tell his men to be cautious when they take Walder Frey for his shoulders and push him on his knees from his damned black throne.

The noise dies down when Robb walks in front of him, his sword still in his hand, still covered in blood (as his armor).

Lord Frey is _not_ laughing out loud when Robb stops. He looks maybe frailer than Robb remembers him being, but he’s still looking at him defiantly, his lips curled in a half-smirk. Well at least he’s still not laughing.

“Give me a reason not to strangle you with my bare hands,” Robb hisses as he takes a step closer. The soldiers grab Walder Frey’s shoulders again and force him to stand - they’re looking at each other now.

“Why would I? You won’t.”

“Oh, I won’t. What tells you?”

“Just too _honorable, Your Grace_ , aren’t you? Not enough to -”

“Lord Walder,” Robb interrupts, “I am currently in mind of letting you have a trial, just because it’s the proper thing to do. But if you _dare_ mentioning my lady mother, as I suspect you were about to do… believe me, my wolf might be dead and those stories about me turning into him are, in fact, stories, but I think I could imitate him fairly well and rip your throat open with my bare hands. Don’t. Really. My patience has a limit and I don’t believe you have the upper hand right now. And don’t even say that I’ve just attacked you like a coward would. I don’t remember making you eat my bread, do I?”

The smile fades away at once and Robb just feels disgusted with him. So much that while he could kill him right now and the gods know he wants to, the thought of getting his sword dirty with his blood makes him want to vomit.

“Lock him into one of his own bloody rooms,” Robb says. “There’s no way he’d make it to Riverrun. Actually, throw everyone into the dungeons, and in the morning I’ll decide if setting the entire castle on fire is an ill-advised idea. Out of my sight. Now.”

\--

All the hostages are alive and well - at least that. Robb only manages to reach the room holding his uncle and his bride after having spoken to all of them and making sure that every threat is kept in the dungeons.

He doesn’t know what to expect.

Surely it wasn’t Roslin Frey starting to tremble the moment he sets foot in the room. While holding his uncle’s hand.

Oh gods, the last thing he needs is for this to be _complicated_.

“My lady,” he says tiredly, “I have no intention of harming you in… your current condition, at least. May I have a word with your husband on my own?”

She nods shakily and leaves - she goes to the next room, a couple of soldiers following her. Gods, she’s heavy - at least six months into the pregnancy.

He takes a good look at his uncle - he’s thinner, and not smiling much, but not too bad off from what it seems.

He takes a breath. “I owe you more apologies than I will ever be able to make,” Robb says. “I’m sorry I ever fell for that story and I’m sorry that you had to make up for my mistakes, and I’m sorry that I wasn’t even here when this happened. I realize that they mean nothing, but it’s the least I can do.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Edmure says tiredly. “But - I appreciate the sentiment, Robb. I do. What are you planning to do now?”

“Lord Walder and everyone that I can find had a direct hand in that wedding is going to Riverrun to be tried. Well, not him, but all the rest. Then I’m going to march to King’s Landing and end this war, but I’m sure it’s not what you had meant.”

Edmure shakes his head and takes a step closer. “Do you really want to make those apologies matter?”

“If I can.”

“I don’t care what you have in plans for the rest of them. But I’d be grateful if you kept my wife out of it.”

Robb hadn’t expected that. He had been ready to tell his uncle that they could very well annul the wedding, all things considered.

“By keeping her out, you mean that I should do nothing about the marriage itself?”

“She was forced into it,” Edmure sighs. “It was obvious. She kept crying throughout the ceremony and everyone kept on saying that it was just nerves, but in retrospective… she had been trying to warn us somewhat. And - she’s nothing like her father.”

“Not to mention that she carries your child.”

“That, too.”

Robb can see it in his eyes - he genuinely cares for her at least.

And the thing is that he can’t tell him to do otherwise. Not when he’s making up for Robb’s mistake, which had been… marrying someone he shouldn’t have.

“I’m the last person who can tell you different. All right. Bring her with, I suppose she can ride back to Riverrun - she’s not too far yet. I can’t guarantee that she’ll have much family left when I’m done with them, but I will… keep her out of it.”

“My thanks.”

“If you both want to leave tell Lady Mormont, we’re going to stay here just until midday. Hopefully. I really don’t want to be held here longer than I have to.”

“I can only agree with you.”

Robb leaves the room as Roslin Frey walks back inside it with her eyes downcast.

He takes a deep breath and decides that he’s not going to think about how complicated this entire bloody matter is and that he’ll go retrieving Grey Wind’s bones. Maybe one day he’ll get to bury him in Winterfell next to Sansa’s wolf, but he knows that day isn’t close and his first urge isn’t crying just because he has done enough of that in the morning. He just feels fucking empty right now.

\--

When he leaves the castle with a bundle of cloth containing bones in his hands, he smells burnt bodies. He wonders if it’s what happened to his own soldiers and then he wants to vomit again, but they did leave a number of corpses behind and whoever gave the order to burn them wasn’t wrong, they can’t afford to leave decaying bodies all over the yard.

Maege Mormont meets him at the gate.

“How many did we capture?”

“Half of the Lannister soldiers - about five hundred of them. We have fifteen of Lord Walder’s trueborn sons and all his daughters. Then some fifty of his nephews and nieces - everyone else was killed now or by those outlaws that you dealt with.”

“How about his baseborn?”

“We’re still counting them. Shall I fetch the others?”

“Yes, if it please you.”

She leaves and Robb thinks about it - five hundred soldiers, some seventy Freys not counting the bastards, and Lord Walder. Great. More people than their small army was actually made of. He can’t afford to keep them all prisoners.

Not much later, Lady Mormont comes back with Greatjon and Mors Umber, Marq Piper, Galbert Glover and Ser Davos - so he must have come down with the rest of their forces.

“What are your orders?” the Greatjon asks, looking entirely too pleased with being free again.

“All right. My lords. Someone see if there are valuable hostages between the Lannister soldiers - if yes, those are coming back to Riverrun with us. The rest goes to the Wall at once, there’s no way the Riverrun dungeons can host that many people and I don’t have a grudge with _them_ specifically. Same terms as the others we sent before. Lord Glover, could you take care of escorting them?”

“Of course.”

“Very well. Every legitimate Frey that is not Lord Walder or Lady Roslin is to come to Riverrun as prisoners. Lord Umber,” he says to the Greatjon, “would you be so courteous to make sure they don’t escape?”

“Gladly,” the Greatjon replies with a grin. Good. “But why not Roslin Frey?”

“My uncle has been clear on that matter and… I think he doesn’t wish to annul the wedding. And after all this, I can hardly refuse him. Regarding Lord Walder’s baseborn, send them to the Wall along with the Lannister soldiers if they’re men and of age. The women and children - well, I suppose they will come to Riverrun, too, and then I’ll see what to do with them.”

“What about the three that didn’t take part in the wedding?” Ser Davos asks.

“Sorry?”

“When I got here, three of those sons of Lord Walder’s stopped me and said that they hadn’t taken part in the wedding because they hadn’t agreed with it.”

“Who would they be?”

“One was Olyvar - he was the one who was speaking for the three of them. The others I can’t remember.”

Robb sighs - the thing is that he’s inclined to believe this. He was his squire once and he _did_ want to stay even after his family took back their support. He takes a deep breath.

“Well, I was going to hear everyone eventually. Bring them to Riverrun, same as all the other legitimate sons of Lord Walder’s - you can tell them that I’ll hear their story in person, but I can’t do that right now. Now, I want Lord Frey back in the main hall before an hour - I need this done with.”

“Your Grace?”

Robb turns to his left, where one of the men he had entrusted with Lord Frey is - he looks… not displeased. Maybe disappointed would be better. And also as if he hopes that Robb won’t lash at the messenger of the news he’s bringing.

“Yes?”

“I’m - I’m afraid that it won’t be possible.”

“Why?”

“Because - I think Lord Walder is about to die regardless of whether you swing your sword or not.”

“Wait. How?”

“We were holding him in his own room waiting for your orders and then - first he started coughing, then spasming and it didn’t look as if he could leave the bed, let alone live much longer.”

 _Damn_. He lives for ninety years and he has to die just _now_?

“Thank you. I’ll be there in a moment. My lords, can you take care of the situation while I see that he doesn’t die when I can’t see it?”

They all give their assent and Robb runs back inside the castle, bones in his arms and all.

\--

The soldier hadn’t lied - Lord Walder looks more dead than alive. He’s sitting on the bed and he’s coughing hard enough that his chest trembles with it. Robb isn’t feeling any sympathy whatsoever. He just feels dead tired.

“Ninety years and you choose to die now? Strikes me as convenient,” he says.

Lord Walder coughs some more and if he wasn’t, Robb would say that he’s cackling, and - it doesn’t even make him mad. He just feels so disgusted that he can’t bear it anymore.

“Teaches you not to cross me,” he croaks after the coughing subsides.

“I fail to see how crossing you is on the same league as breaking guest right.” Robb is trying not to punch him in the face - he’s not sure that he wants his hands dirty without a trial. “I meant it. I wanted to make amends.”

“And you didn’t even _come_.” He laughs again and fuck but Robb can’t stand the sight of him anymore. “Pity that you never saw your precious lady mother beg for her brother’s life.”

“You really want me to kill you on your deathbed, don’t you?”

“And what would that say about you, _Your Grace_? Your lord father would be happy to see you doing something so dishonorable, wouldn’t he?”

“My lord father would have other reasons to be disappointed in me,” Robb says as he takes a step closer. His fingers are itching to draw his damn sword out of the sheath, but he forces himself not to do it. “If you think that I’m going to fall for this so that I’m remembered for the rest of my life as someone who killed an old man on his deathbed, you can forget it. You’re so disgusting that I don’t think I want to get my hands dirty. I thought I’d have liked to see you die in front of me, but as it is, I don’t even think I should stoop that low. Be sure that when you do die, though, your body is going straight into the river. I don’t have to explain you why, do I? Be thankful that it’s not going to adorn Riverrun’s pikes. Oh, and Lord Walder? My lady mother sends her regards, and at least _she_ will have a proper burial. Goodbye.”

Lord Walder’s eyes go wide as if he hasn’t expected any of that, and Robb smirks before turning his back on him and leaving the room.

He can hear the coughing starting again.

He turns to the guard outside. “When he dies, bring his body to the main hall and throw it off the highest window, just so that everyone sees it happen.”

“Nothing else?”

“Nothing else.”

\--

He doesn’t have to wait much for it - he hasn’t been out of the castle for long when some of the prisoners scream. He turns towards the tower and he lets them scream as they see the corpse fall down into the river.

Good fucking riddance.

Ser Davos joins him a moment later and Robb doesn’t fail to see that Theon is with him - he’s not coming closer, actually he leaves ser Davos’s right and puts himself at Robb’s left side, not too far away but not exactly close either, and Robb can’t really read the expression on his face, but he’ll think about it later. He looks dead tired though – Robb can understand him only too well. And no one else seems very happy to see him, but that wouldn’t be anything new, would it?

“Your Grace. Lady Mormont says that they counted seventy bastards, between Lord Walder’s sons and _their_ sons - forty grown men. Everyone else is women or children or both. Are your orders still valid?”

“Yes. I hoped it’d be less, but hopefully there’ll be enough space. What about the rest?”

“Lord Glover will leave shortly, he’s gathering men but he should be done soon. For the rest - well, they’re still dividing the prisoners to make the ride easier, but they should be ready by midday. They set up a tent for you over there if you want some rest.”

“My thanks. Maybe in a short while. Now I should just -”

“Robb, _move_!”

Robb doesn’t even have time to realize what’s happening. Was that Theon? Yes, it sounded like him, but… why did he scream? Why should he move? What’s -

He turns his head towards Theon on his left just to see him taking those few steps that were in between them, and then he grabs his shoulders after turning them over, so that their positions are switched - the bundle with the bones flies from Robb’s hands - and then Theon falls on top of him as they both crash on the ground, - _and what in the seven hells is going on_? 

But then –

He hears everyone screaming, and he doesn’t understand what’s going on until he looks beyond Theon’s shoulder and sees an arrow poking out of it.

He raises his eyes and sees –

Oh, _no_. Some soldiers are currently disarming Ryman Frey, who had been standing there in a group of prisoners but whose hands hadn’t been still bound, probably, and must have grabbed a bow from some fallen soldiers without anyone else noticing (or better, without his brothers that were circling him saying a thing), and Theon was exactly in the right position to see it happening and Robb _clearly_ had looked the wrong way, and now there’s blood all over Theon’s cloak and tunic and –

 _That’s_ when Robb fully realizes what has just happened.

“No,” he whispers. “No, no, what did you do, _what in the seven hells did you do_?”

He doesn’t even know if he should turn him over or anything, and then he looks at his sides and sees only petrified people.

“Gods, do something!” he shouts at that point, and he’s almost grateful when he hears Ser Davos cursing at his side.

“I told someone to go fetch the maester,” he says. “Try to stay still. I need to move him but I don’t want the arrow to go in any deeper. Can you do it?”

Robb gives him a dumbfounded nod and tries not to move. He breathes in and out as Ser Davos tears off a piece of his cloak and puts it around the wound, where the blood is flowing out, and then he slowly moves Theon’s dead weight to the side so that Robb can roll over and move from under him.

He sits up. His hands are covered in blood - the _wrong_ blood - and then he looks at Theon and -

He’s passed out. Obviously. But he’s almost smiling.

The maester arriving a moment later saves Robb from doing something that would have probably meant trouble - Robb tells him to go treat Theon in his tent and that he’ll wait outside.

He looks down at his hands, and they’re shaking wildly.

\--

_Idiot. Idiot, why did you go and do it, I never told you that you were allowed to die for me, what were you even thinking?_

He’s standing outside his tent - only the maester is in right now, and he wants to scream all over again.

It’s not - it’s not right. This can’t be happening now. He just lost his mother for the second time and he’ll be damned if -

He’ll be damned if _nothing_. There’s nothing he can do right now, and if Theon dies he won’t even be able to mourn him because according to everyone else he’s still a hostage and Robb doesn’t care either way and he surely can’t give him a proper burial, can he?

“You had no right to do it,” he whispers as he stands and waits, using a rag to try and clean his hands - it’s useless. There’s still blood under his nails and when he sees it for the umpteenth time it’s just too much - he stalks away from the tent and goes for the nearest bush and if anyone sees him throwing up, he can say that it was because he just realized that he could have died himself.

He doesn’t even know how long he stays there kneeling and feeling exactly how vile his mouth tastes, but when he stands up on shaky legs, he’s not surprised that Ser Davos is standing not far from him.

“I can trust you not to tell anyone what you just saw, can’t I?” He asks tiredly.

“Of course. Do you want some water?”

“Please,” he says as he accepts the skin Ser Davos is handing him. He drinks a bit and then spits it down - at least it’s slightly better.

“If it consoles you, it didn’t look deadly,” Ser Davos says a moment later.

“Sorry?”

“I’ve seen enough arrow wounds in my life. I don’t think it was the kind that kills you, but considering that he could weigh more and that it was a lot of blood that I’ve seen, I’m not going to tell you that he’s going to survive it for sure.”

Robb gives him a tiny nod and hands him back the skin. His head is pounding and he thinks he wants to vomit again.

“What have they done with - with Ryman Frey?”

“Chained and with five men guarding him.”

“Good. I want to take his fucking head myself,” he whispers, his voice still too close to breaking down. “I can’t believe that - we were supposed to be done. And now - who even - why would he go and do it?”

“Your Grace, if I may speak truthfully… are you really asking yourself that?”

“What - what do you mean?”

“That _why_ he would do it seems plenty obvious to me. I’d die for my king in a heartbeat and it’s… plain obvious that he’d die for you in half of one. If I’m making myself clear.”

Even too much.

“What - what are people saying about this? Around the camp, I mean,” Robb asks, even if he’s almost afraid to hear the answer. He’s also sure that he won’t like it.

“Do you really want to know?”

“Please.”

“The most popular opinion right now is that if he dies, then it’s because he’s just done the first useful thing of his life. No one speaks it out loud, obviously.”

“Figures.”

That’s when Robb almost takes the decision, and fuck everything else. He’s almost beyond caring and beyond giving a damn, and if his bannermen don’t agree, they can deal with it.

He takes another deep breath and walks towards the tent’s entrance - there’s barely noise coming from within and he’s not sure that he can take waiting longer than this.

“Ser, would you give me some advice, if it please you?”

“If I can,” Ser Davos agrees.

“Let’s say that if things go the way I hope… that I’m thinking about - about doing something that most of my army will hate and that would definitely _not_ please my lord father, wherever he is right now. Or anyone related to me, I fear.”

Ser Davos’s eyes narrow in understanding. Good thing that Robb doesn’t have to explain himself.

“Very well. And?”

“Let’s say that if I do it, I’m doing what I think is the right thing. Should I go ahead with it even if it’s not going to be a popular decision?”

“You’re asking the wrong person. My king does that most of the time and - well, if he thinks it’s right then he won’t hear otherwise. Then again, he made _me_ a lord. And - let’s say that I’m used to do the same.”

“It hasn’t worked too badly for you.”

“No, but I don’t think that any other of all the kings in Westeros would have appreciated it. But if I were you… well, if your army’s opinion is what you care about most then I wouldn’t do it.”

“… It’s not,” Robb admits. It never was. And it couldn’t ever be.

“Then you don’t need to ask me for advice, do you?”

Before Robb can answer, the maester leaves the tent, cleaning his hands, too. Robb is almost afraid to ask.

“He’ll live,” the maester says, and Robb almost cries in relief, but he forces himself to keep his emotions down - he’s not going to break down right now. “But - well, he lost a lot of blood and he looked already fatigued in the first place. He needs to rest, now. No drawn out efforts or fighting battles or riding too fast, and eating some more wouldn’t hurt.”

“Nothing - nothing more?” Robb asks.

“I wouldn’t say. But also he should be careful when he moves or else the wound could be opened again.”

“All right. Is - is he awake?”

“Not right now. He drank some dreamwine before so he won’t be for a while, but he should be fine.”

“Very well. Thank you.”

“Your Grace.” The maester bows and leaves, and Robb lets out a breath of relief so deep that he almost surprises himself.

“Let me guess,” Ser Davos says, “the last thing you want to do is going back there and deal with your bannermen, is it?”

“Gods, yes.”

“Go, I’ll tell them that you needed a word with him and that you’re still shaken by that attempt. It ought to buy you some time.”

“Ser, thanks. I -”

“Save it, it’s nothing.”

He leaves and Robb walks into the tent. Theon is laying down on a bedroll, a blanket covering him from the waist down, but his chest is bare and the wound on his shoulder is bandaged carefully. Robb can still see scars on his entire chest - from the flaying, of course, but now that he has a better look he can see knife wounds and scratches everywhere.

“Fuck you,” he whispers as he kneels next to the bedroll and takes Theon’s left hand in his. “You didn’t have the right to do this to me. You didn’t. I’m going to kill you myself the moment you wake up.”

He knows he’s lying.

He’s also pretty sure that the first thing he’ll do when Theon wakes up won’t be killing him. He bites down on his tongue and looks down at him again, taking in everything - gray hair, scars everywhere, bones that poke from places they shouldn’t, the two missing fingers in the hand he’s holding, and he thinks that the idiot was _smiling_ when he took that fucking arrow. Right now, he isn’t feeling anything that comes close to hate – if anything, it’s the contrary. He knows he shouldn’t, but he just can’t ignore this, he can’t ignore that the idiot would have fucking died for him without even thinking about it – because he had seen Theon’s face when he screamed, and it was obvious that he didn’t even think twice, he had just acted. He can’t ignore that even before everything had gone to the seven hells, Theon had in fact gone to war with him and risked his life when he could as well have refused. Suddenly he remembers that time when he saved Bran’s life and instead of thanking him Robb had lashed out at him just because he was riled up already and he feels bad about it all over again.

The thing is that Robb knows that if he leaves things the way they are, Theon isn’t going to get any thanks for this as well, not counting the ones Robb would give him in private, which makes Robb want to punch something – people gain lordships or knighthoods for saving kings’ lives and Theon should get Robb’s gratefulness without anyone else knowing and nothing else? Same as what he always used to get before he went and disappeared on the iron islands? Maybe if it hadn’t been the case he’d have had a reason to come back, Robb thinks bitterly. Surely he’s _making it up to him_ though, isn’t he? 

Robb wishes that it hadn’t come to this, but it has, and he thinks that he’s done with caring about what everyone else thinks. For once he’s going to go with his gut again and do the right thing – after all, he hasn’t taken one decision for himself only since they put that crown on his head (except for marrying Jeyne, but that was different, wasn’t it?) and considering that every bloody king in this realm except for maybe Stannis has done that multiple times, Robert Baratheon included, maybe it’s time he indulges in it just once.

He can’t keep on pretending that he hates Theon for everyone to see except the few people who know, not when he looks down at him and the only thing he can think of is that he wants to start all over again without subterfuges or keeping it hidden. 

Whatever the others have to say, he honestly doesn’t care.


	2. Chapter 2

Theon opens his eyes and thinks, _fuck this hurts_.

Then he realizes that someone is holding his hand.

He turns his head to his left, blinking a couple of times before his eyes can focus. Oh. It’s Robb. So he was on time, after all. Good. Now if only everything wasn’t fucking _hurting_ -

“Who told you that you could do it?”

“… What?”

Robb sounds halfway between furious and relieved, and Theon isn’t awake enough to deal with it.

“You don’t even see it, do you? When we were discussing the ways you could make it up to me, I’ve never told you that you were allowed to die for me, you - you - I don’t even know how should I call your right now.”

Theon shakes his head and doesn’t even try to sit up on his elbows. It hurts too fucking much.

“There’s nothing to see, Robb. I - I didn’t even think about it. He was going to kill you and no one else had seen him, what should I have done?”

“What - what you should - _not that_!”

He looks as if he can barely keep himself from shouting, and Theon can’t reconcile it with everything else. Why would he?

“Why? Why the hell would you just - throw your fucking life away like that?”

“Not worth much,” Theon replies, shrugging.

“… You’re serious,” Robb says, and now he sounds mildly horrified.

“Robb. Did it cross your mind that out of the two of us you’re the one whose life is worth something? Because believe me, mine isn’t. I could do something, I did it.”

“That’s it. That’s - just - Theon, damn you, how can you even say that? It never was to me!”

“ _To you_.” He shakes his head and when Robb lets his hand go he manages to sit up - it takes a ridiculous amount of effort, but when he does at least they’re eye to eye. “It doesn’t matter and you know that.”

“Oh, it does. How can you say that it doesn’t?”

“Because it’s true.” He feels so tired right now, he’s not even sure he can keep his words straight. If only Robb would get it. If only Robb could understand that he really means it. He understood his lesson. He knows that they’re not equals, he knows that Robb will always be worth more, he knows that if he dies nothing changes but if Robb does a lot of things do change indeed, and he’s fine with it. He is. He knows. Robb isn’t going to make him apologize for this.

Then he looks up at Robb and - he seems almost horrified.

“You - you still believe that?” Robb asks, his voice thin now, his hand finding Theon’s again. He shivers, relishing the touch, but trying not to make it overtly obvious.

“It’s not that I believe it. It’s that I know it,” he croaks. “And - Robb, really, maybe you should ask yourself another question.”

“Like?”

“Like… do you really think that I want to live in a world where you’re dead? Because the answer to that would be no. I spent weeks not wanting to believe it once and if you think that I want to watch you die in front of me then you’re wrong.”

Robb opens his mouth and then closes it, looking as if someone just threw him a punch in the gut, and Theon wishes he never said it if only because Robb looks pained now, and that’s not what he had wanted. That’s not what he had aimed for, and -

He holds his breath in when Robb raises his free hand to his cheek, his eyes filling up with tears that he’s trying to keep in check, and - no. That wasn’t - Robb isn’t supposed to be doing this. This isn’t supposed to happen. He doesn’t - he’s not - why would he even be crying?

“You don’t even see it, do you?”

“What?”

“That I don’t want to live in a world where you’re dead, too.” Theon can hear his voice breaking down on the last word, and he’s about to shake his head - that’s not - Robb _shouldn’t_ , he really shouldn’t, but then -

Then Robb shakes his head and his other hand moves up to Theon’s neck and he’s coming closer and _this can’t be really happening can it_ -

He stays perfectly still when Robb’s lips touch his. It’s barely there, and Robb’s fingers are shaking almost as hard as his own, but it’s happening and he can’t even move, not when he can barely believe that he’s not dreaming right now. But if he were, he would be whole and his hair would be dark and he’d have never even dreamt of leaving Robb’s side, would he?

Robb leans back a moment later, still looking at him as if he just wants to break down crying all over again, and Theon’s right hand is trembling when he touches Robb’s neck. “Robb, what are you even doing?” he asks, his voice barely audible even to his own ears.

“What does it look like?” Robb answers, sounding all the way like he’s ten and seven and scared out of his mind rather than like a king. “I can’t - I can’t do this anymore, all right? All this pretending and hiding and telling myself that things are changed so it’s fine that no one else knows, and letting you keep on thinking that you don’t matter and - and everything else. I’m done with this. I did it because I wanted to, and I’ll do it again if you’ll let me. I just - when you did that I thought that you really _were_ going to die, and believe me or not but I couldn’t even bear the thought.”

Theon feels like all the air has just left his lungs and - and he can’t. He can’t even begin to understand the enormity of what he’s just heard and he can’t bring himself to believe that, and he can barely feel the pain in his shoulder.

“You don’t - how can you even? I’m not - I can’t even look at myself most times, you can’t mean that.”

“Oh, I did. I meant it before the war and I mean it now. You ever try to die for me again, I’m killing you with my bare hands after. Got it?”

He nods once, still feeling speechless. “Got it,” he says, his voice so thin he can barely recognize it himself. “And - and I let you. If you want.”

He doesn’t even know what he’s just given permission to, to be honest, but - it’s _Robb_ , and whatever he wants to do won’t be anything he’ll hate, but then Robb moves forward and kisses him again. It’s not the same way they used to at times _before_ \- right now it’s just lips against lips, so gently that Theon can barely feel them, and then he presses back and parts his own without even thinking about it. And - and then Robb’s lips are moving against his slowly, as if he’s afraid that he’ll shatter him if he kisses too hard, which for a moment feels completely ludicrous because that’s just not how it goes, it’s not what happens to him, or at least not like _this_ , and no one should want to kiss him the way he is right now, and -

“Theon.”

He looks up at Robb, and fuck but the moment Robb had leaned back for a second he had spoken out loud.

“I want,” he says again. “But don’t _let me_ just because I asked.”

“It’s not - it’s not that,” he replies miserably. “I just - how can you?”

Before he can try to put it in better words he’s drawn forward though, his frame pressed against Robb’s, Robb’s left arm around his shoulders and his right hand buried in his hair, and he tentatively raises his own hands and grips at Robb’s cloak, and _oh_ \- Robb’s heart is beating so fast. As fast as his own, probably.

“Because I _know_ you, damn it, and don’t ever try to tell me different. Do you think that I don’t remember the way you looked when you arrived at Winterfell first? You looked like you were expecting everyone to - to fucking eat you at once or something, and I was stupid enough not to notice that you had more than a reason to. I refuse to think that after ten years I don’t know how you tick, and do you know what hurt most when I heard that you - well, didn’t side with me? That it went against everything that I thought, and I couldn’t stop wondering if I had just been judging you all wrong, but - guess what, I found out that maybe I haven’t after all.”

Theon is too busy processing what he has just heard to answer, and then Robb moves back enough that they can look at each other.

He had thought that the previous morning had been hard - this is nothing in comparison.

“And I think there’s something I owe you,” Robb says, his voice still shaky.

“What?”

“Do you remember that time when you saved my brother’s life and I lashed out at you?”

“I do, but -”

“I shouldn’t have. I beat myself up over it for weeks after, and - I should have told you, but that’s not the thing. The thing is that you just did the same to me and the only thing I’ve done until now has been insulting you.”

“Robb, you don’t have to -”

“Theon? Thank you.”

Fine, maybe the grin on Robb’s mouth isn’t as wide as it could and it’s kind of shaky, and he still looks like he could cry from relief for hours, but he remembers with a force so strong that it almost makes him dizzy how disappointed he had been when he had received no thanks, when Robb hadn’t smiled at him in approval, how much he had resented him for it, and maybe it’s three years too late but he feels like he’s being given everything he ever wanted at once, or at least a good part of it.

“I couldn’t have done otherwise, but - well. You’re welcome.”

Robb closes his eyes and nods and then his forehead touches Theon’s almost gently, and Theon doesn’t even try to make sense of this anymore. Maybe it doesn’t have to.

“I mean it. I still think you’re an idiot and that you should have never done it, but thank you. And - and I’m done with pretenses.”

“You’re _done with pretenses_?”

“The moment I’m walking out of here, I’m pardoning you.”

Now _he_ feels like someone punched him in the stomach, and he can’t even lean back because Robb’s hands are keeping him there and to be honest he isn’t even sure he wants to move.

But he can’t have heard right.

“You - you aren’t.”

“Yes I am,” Robb replies firmly. “I’m done. And I want you to be done too. Knowing what everyone thinks of you, you’d find worms in your dinner even after this. Do you think I don’t remember how happy my bannermen were about your presence in my council even before you left for Pyke? I’ve been thinking about that, too, and - and then I wonder why I was so surprised that you hadn’t come back.”

“I should have,” Theon interrupts him. “It would still have been better than -”

“That’s not the point and you know that. I get it. But you’d have still come back without a title and my bannermen would only have seen that you didn’t bring a fleet with you. We’ve both done it all wrong, and they did it all wrong, too, and that’s exactly why I’m going to try and do this right from now on. Everyone else can deal with it. I didn’t even ask you once if you actually had wanted to stay with your mother, damn.”

“Stop it. Don’t. That’s not - I couldn’t have.”

“All right. So you _want_ to stay here?”

“Robb, it’s the only place I should have been all along. Of course I do.”

“Then you’re staying of your own free will. Not because everyone has to think that I’m taking revenge on you.”

Theon’s eyes snap open at that, and he does lean back so that they can look at each other and - Robb seems perfectly serious about this.

“Are you - are you saying what I think you’re saying? Because - Robb, you don’t have to, it’s fine -”

“See? You’re there telling me that you being my hostage is _fine_ when it was what ruined your life in the first place, and you actually think that it really is fine, and - and it’s not. It’s - just not. And everyone else thinks that it’s all you’re good for and I know they’re wrong. I don’t even care if you don’t think that you deserve it - as far as I’m concerned, your little stunt was more than enough.”

Theon swallows and tries not to faint as Robb’s hand moves to cup his cheek. “I didn’t - it wasn’t - I wasn’t trying to - I just couldn’t not do it, but -”

“Stop. I know. Gods, I know. And I don’t want to be the only one who does. That’s what ruined everything before, wasn’t it? I don’t want it to ruin it now. I want to think we can get it right this time. The moment I walk out of here this changes. All of it. I think it’s high time someone trusts you for real, and don’t even try to tell me that you haven’t earned it.”

He was about to do just that, actually - he doesn’t get how Robb can think that, he just - he didn’t even _think_ before pushing him out of the way, he hasn’t done it because he was hoping to be rewarded, but somehow Robb seems to know all of that already. He’s feeling warm all over now, even if he’s still shirtless and his shoulder is still throbbing in pain, but Robb is still holding him up and he doesn’t think he ever wants to move. He’s too tired to even try to come up with an appropriate answer to that which isn’t _I won’t throw that away even if it kills me_. He supposes that part was clear enough already.

When he turns his head, they’re inches from each other again and he just - he _wants_ , so much, and it’s not even the same thing it used to be years ago. This is different and he’s also half-sure that the one reason Robb is doing this is that it’s not the same thing as what he has with his wife either or he wouldn’t have kissed him in the first place. And - he shouldn’t, he already has been given enough, but maybe this also means that for once he can let himself ask for it, and - it hasn’t happened in so long, and he doesn’t know if he earned it or not, but maybe that doesn’t matter either.

He’s trembling all over as he presses his mouth to the corner of Robb’s, whispering _thank you_ before he does, and when Robb turns his head and presses another kiss to his lips again he doesn’t let himself think or hear the voice in his head that keeps on telling him that this can’t be real. It doesn’t go farther than that, and he isn’t sure if he’s ever kissed anyone this slowly or gently in his entire life but then again everything except _this_ is a blur in his head right now.

He doesn’t know how long it is until Robb moves away, one hand cradling the back of his head. “The maester said that you needed to rest and I think you’re about to pass out. I’m going to stay until I can’t postpone anymore. And by the way, when we go back, you’re riding with me.”

He gives Robb a nod, unable to do anything else, and he falls asleep with Robb’s fingers carding through his hair and a fur pulled over him, and he can’t help thinking that when he wakes up again he’ll find out that he had dreamed it all.

\--

When he wakes up, Robb isn’t there anymore.

Ser Davos is, though.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

Theon sits up again - it’s not too much effort this time. His shoulder still hurts, but it could be worse, and he’s starving, and he could drink, but that’s the most of it. “Better than before.”

“Do you think that you can eat?”

“I could. Yes. Thanks.”

Ser Davos wordlessly hands him a bowl and Theon doesn’t miss that it’s not the usual food that he’s had until now - this is good stew, and the pieces of potatoes in it aren’t as small. He’s half-sure that this is what Robb or his bannermen would eat rather than common soldiers and he decides not to let himself think about it or his head is going to explode. So it was real.

He eats it quickly though not too much - the last thing he wants is to throw it up because he couldn’t take his time with it. He accepts it when Ser Davos hands him a skin of water and after he’s drank, too, he feels reasonably more coherent.

“Can you walk?”

“I think so,” Theon answers. “I mean, it’s just my shoulder hurting. Why?”

“Because Robb Stark told me that when you’re up, they’ll be waiting for you in the yard. I think he’s not doing things halfway.”

Oh gods, he meant it then. Ser Davos then hands him a bundle of folded clothes.

“He also sends these. Take your time, there’s no hurry.”

“So - so he meant it?”

“I think he means every word of it. And be done with that look, this would be a good occasion to show your king’s bannermen that your house’s words actually can make sense.”

He leaves then, and Theon takes a better look at the clothes that were sent over. He can see at once that they’re Robb’s, from the finery to the size, but then again he doubts that anyone else in this camp would lend him clothes, and his own are probably ruined for good. A maester comes inside a moment later - Theon thanks him since he supposes he’s the one who took the arrow out of his shoulder. The maester has a look at his shoulder, says that it’s holding up well, reminds him not to tire himself and to sleep some more and tells him that he’ll give him a hand putting on his shirt, he shouldn’t move his shoulder too much if he doesn’t strictly have to.

Theon stands up, takes a couple of deep breaths and starts changing. The breeches are made of good wool and he manages them without jostling his shoulder too much; the maester wordlessly helps him put on the shirt and the jacket that came with it - everything is large on him, obviously, but for once it feels nice rather than reminding him of all the weight he lost. The clothes are all dark gray, no frills, but he almost stops dead in his tracks when he sees the cloak. It’s light gray, and while there’s no embroidery on the back or in any other visible place… he doesn’t miss the small direwolf sigil sewn on the bottom right corner of it. It’s warm when he puts it on, and when he takes a step outside the tent one of the two soldiers standing outside takes a look at him and leaves, heading for the yard.

He swallows as a passage opens in between the mass of people that he can see.

The soldier is back a short while later.

“His Grace wants you in the courtyard,” he says, his tone carefully not giving anything out.

He glances at the soldiers on either side as he walks forward - everyone is looking at him weirdly, as if they’re definitely not glad to see him but at the same time they can’t say that to his face because he just saved their king’s life and their chances of winning this war at the same time. His first instinct is walking with his eyes cast down, trying to make it as quick as possible, but…

No. Walking quickly makes his feet hurt more, and he owes these people exactly nothing. They can look as much as they want, he decides, and he also figures that hiding his fingers in his cloak won’t do either. Let them see, he thinks, and then he starts walking towards the yard, taking his time and staring back whenever someone glares at him. By the time he’s in the yard, he feels as if he could faint - he’s managed to keep a straight face until now, but it was enough effort and his shoulder is hurting all over again.

Never mind. He’ll go through this if it’s the last thing he does. He looks forward - Robb is standing in the middle of the yard, all his surviving bannermen behind him. Ser Davos is at the side and he seems to be looking at the scene with a certain amusement. No one else is - especially everyone standing behind Robb. They’re looking at him as if they’d really like to have his head right now, but Robb’s eyes are different - he’s almost smiling, and that’s enough as far as he’s concerned.

“Your Grace,” he says after clearing his throat. “Did - did you have need of me?”

“I did,” Robb agrees. “Come closer.”

He swallows and does, stopping in front of Robb, who’s still looking at him like _that_ , and it feels so sweet that he can’t even begin to put it into words.

“In light of everything that has surfaced regarding what really happened during the sack of Winterfell, and in light of what happened in this yard this morning, I have taken a decision concerning your current status and where you currently stand with me. I also would like to state that it’s a definitive decision and I don’t want to hear otherwise about it.”

Theon can hear someone murmuring in the crowd, but he shuts it out and keeps his eyes on Robb’s.

“From this moment on, you can consider yourself pardoned for your crimes concerning what happened at Winterfell, As for the rest, consider yourself a free man. You’re not my hostage anymore. If you wish to go somewhere else, ask for it and I’ll see to provide.”

The murmurs turn into chattering, and Theon can hear people gasping, and when he glances at the bannermen behind Robb he can only see disapproval on their faces.

But he knows the offer for what it is, and - and suddenly he _know_ s. He’s grateful that Robb is giving him a choice, something that he’s rarely had until now - maybe never - and he doesn’t even have to think about the answer. As much as he has fixed things between him and his sister, he knows that it’s not his place, and maybe it means that he doesn’t have other alternatives, but - that’s not the way it is.

This time he’s sure of it, and it feels sweet to have that kind of knowledge and to be able to do this without needing to balance his loyalties.

He can see that everyone standing next to Robb is expecting and probably hoping for him to ask to board a ship to Pyke. Well, they’ll be surprised.

“Your Grace,” he says, suddenly feeling confident as he used to once upon a time, “you have my deepest thanks. And I appreciate your offer. But there is just one thing I might wish for that you could provide for me, if you were so kind.”

“Speak then.”

He takes in a deep breath and then he drops on one knee with less effort than he’d have thought - and it might be the first time in his life when such a gesture feels liberating, but he doesn’t care for it right now.

The entire yard goes silent.

“I only want to serve my king at the best of my possibilities. If he will have me.”

He looks up at Robb and he sees him smiling again, his lips curling up ever so slightly.

“Now and always?” Robb asks, breaking the silence surrounding them, and for a moment Theon has to stop and commit the moment to memory - Robb’s hair looks fiery red in the midday sunlight, his eyes are clear and blue and fixed on him as if he’s only waiting for him to say yes to grant him what he wants, and he looks every inch like the king he never wanted to be, but his smile is the same he used to give him when they were kids in Winterfell, and he’s alive and _he_ was the reason, and Theon doesn’t even realize that he’s smiling without being able to stop himself until he’s done it.

“Now and always,” he repeats, his heart thrumming in his chest.

“Your king will have you,” Robb says, loud enough for everyone to hear. “You may stand.”

And then - then Robb holds out one of his hands, and Theon is so completely out of it that he doesn’t realize that he raises his left hand to take it. But before he can take it back and use his right, Robb fingers close around his remaining ones as he’s hauled up to his feet, and he knows that people are talking around them but he just can’t care less for it. Robb’s fingers squeeze his fingers before he lets his hand go, but he grabs his elbow instead of taking a step back.

“We’re leaving for Riverrun shortly,” Robb whispers. “I meant it before. Ride at the front. Oh, and welcome back.”

“What?”

“You used to smile like that. It was about time.”

When, in fact, they ride back to Riverrun, no one protests overtly when he moves his horse next to Robb’s, and he doesn’t miss that Robb keeps the pace slow most probably for his own sake. Whenever his eyes meet Ser Davos’s (he’s riding next to them) he’s met with a stare that can only mean _you earned it, enjoy it_. And so maybe he smiles to himself most of the time without worrying about it, and so maybe there is no voice sounding like his father or like Ramsay Snow telling him that this isn’t going to last and that he doesn’t deserve it, and so maybe whenever someone stares at him he takes a bit of enjoyment in staring back until they turn their eyes away. He has nothing to feel ashamed about this time, and he’s exactly where he wants to be and _because he wants to_ , and he can’t remember the last time he felt genuinely happy without anything else marring it, and he’s going to hold on to it as long as possible. So maybe last night he had nothing except Robb’s forgiveness and it was just between the two of them, but now he has that, he has _choices_ , and he has Robb’s trust again without having to hide it - he swears to himself that he’s going to do it right this time, and if for now he lets himself bask in how good it all is without feeling as if it’s something that shouldn’t be happening, well, he supposed he has the right to. He doesn’t trick himself into assuming that things will go as well from now on, he’s learned better, but that’s exactly why for now he’s going not to think about it. He’s earned his first bit of happiness after years of anything but and he’ll be damned if he lets it go too soon.

_Now and always_ , he repeats over in his head as they ride, and as he does, he’s sure that they are the three sweetest words he’s ever heard.

End.


End file.
